Problematic Pest
by CaveSpiderson
Summary: "Tim Shepard has a pest problem and it's called Dallas Winston; meanwhile Dally needs a new way to get Tim's attention, that's for sure." - Dally asks out Tim in an arguably unconventional way.


Tim Shepard had a pest problem and it was called Dallas Winston.

He always got caught, which had Tim believing that Dally did the things he did with a purpose or two. Literally without fail, for three times in a row now, he had found the troublesome greaser slashing his tires, in broad daylight. It was infuriating. Tim had hoped that after the first time when he caught Dally by the scruff of his neck and gave him a beating, he would have learned his lesson. In case it wasn't obvious, he didn't.

This time, when Tim Shepard found his tires flat, he didn't need to look far to find the culprit. He took about three steps to the left and found good old Dallas leaning against a lamppost, flicking a switchblade open and closed.

Seeing red, Tim charged for Dally. The blond barely had time to react, despite being well-known for acting fast, and got a face-full of Shepard's steel fist. Dally reeled, even stumbled a little. His switchblade tumbled to the ground and clattered a foot away. He clutched his jaw.

"You filthy son of a bitch!" Tim hollered. His voice echoed for the whole neighbourhood to hear. "You must be achin' for one hell of a beatin', 'cause this is, what? The fourth time I've caught your slimy hands slicin' my tires to ribbons? C'mon! Put up your fists, boy, I'll teach your Yankee-ass some goddamn, fuckin' respect-"

He flung another punch, and Dally caught it. He dodged a swing from the left, then seized Tim by that wrist as well. They both struggled, grunting. Tim moved his shoulder and slammed it broad to Dally's chest with all his might. The force of it combined with Dally's vice-grip sent them both toppling to the lawn, where Dally again got himself at an advantage. He flipped them over and pinned the backs of Tim's hand to the ground. Tim growled as if he were an animal; his knee came up as hard as it could into Dally's gut. As the air was knocked out of him, he let out a groan. It was minor as far as things went, but it gave Tim a brief window of time to strategize.

At once, their eyes fell upon the discarded switchblade.

Effortlessly, Tim kicked Dally off of him and shot up like a rocket. Behind him he heard Dally roll to his feet as well, but not quick enough; Tim snatched the blade, flipped it open, and whipped around.

Dally fell merely inches short of impaling himself onto the blade. It glittered in the afternoon sun.

Tim Shepard didn't play dirty unless he needed to; blades, chains, and any other ace you could pull was filth as far as he was concerned. In the same breath, however, he would be first to tell you that Dally did not fall far from that line.

After a pause that felt like an eternity, Tim jabbed the knife forward a little.

"Step back, hood."

Dally did that. He also put his hands up, his head lolling to the side along with his exaggerated eye-roll. His entire demeanour dripped with sarcasm, yet he said nothing.

Tim looked Dally up and down. His eyes flicked along his body, searching everything for something, until they had satisfied themselves. He settled on his pale, crooked face. Shepard's nose wrinkled.

"Start talkin', you good for nothin' hood. Why're you slashin' my tires? You wanna fight?"

Dally took his turn to survey Tim. It ended with another eye-roll. He put his hands down.

"No."

Tim pinched his nose and sighed in utter exasperation. "You're such a fuckin' nuisance."

Dally shrugged. He shoved one of his fists into his pockets and outstretched the other palm. "I try. Gimme my blade back."

"Why should I?"

"Other than the fact that you look like a fool holdin' it?"

"You'll slice an' dice me if I turn my back."

Dally almost looked amused. "You think I'm a coward?"

"You want me to answer that?"

In the end, Tim flipped the blade shut and handed it to Dally, then last minute flung it out into the middle of the street. Dally watched it as if he were observing the funeral of a fallen solider.

His attention was lazily brought back to Shepard with a sharp, "So what's your deal, huh?"

Dally thoughtfully pocketed his fists. "I wanted to talk to you."

Bitter laughter burst from Tim's lips. He didn't even give Dally the luxury of an exaggerated slap of his knee. It was more of a short, bark-like laugh. His eyes then fell heavy and dead upon Dally's face; naturally, Winston's eyes roamed everywhere without commitment.

"Bullshit. Meet me down the street tonight an' I'll beat you so hard no one'll be able to tell your ass from your face." He sneered. "Not that it's so hard right now."

Without missing a beat, Dally produced a cigarette and matchbook from his pocket. He struck a match and lit the cigarette, then through a breath of smoke said, "I told you I don't want a fight."

The coolness to his actions had no affect on Tim. He crossed his arms, keeping just as cool and collected. To anyone watching from a distance, the two boys might have looked like they were having a stand off. First to draw on the count at high noon. Tim ground his heel into the grass and Dally flicked ash off his cigarette.

They stared. And stared. Neither spoke to relieve the tension that hung like a heavy fog around them. From the kitchen window, Tim spotted Curly beefing himself up to step out, but he waved him off.

Once Dallas Winston was down to half his cigarette, he finally said, "I think I'm takin' a shinin' to you, Shepard."

Tim's eyebrows fell and his lips curled.

"I ain't followin'."

Dally's eyes settled on Tim's face; the simple action was almost enough to make Tim uncomfortable. His voice had never sounded so grating before.

"Me neither." Dally said. He sucked in the last of his cigarette and flicked the butt to the side. He blew the smoke into the air. "You ain't so bad lookin', though- even for an ugly fucker. I kinda like it, which is weird, 'cause usually I hate ugly dames, and I've seen ugly dames prettier than you."

Words failed Tim. He was honestly stunned into silence; his jaw was clasped tightly shut and he ground his teeth, his mind working as fast as it possibly could to process what he had been told. Even in simple terms, he couldn't wrap his head around it.

Dally remained extremely cold and dismissive about it, even going as far as to add, "When you get new tires, we should take a cruise 'round, get a li'l boozed up. See where it takes us. Savvy?"

Tim nodded, but he didn't understand. "Savvy."

Dally looked him up and down, giving him a curt nod and a half-salute afterwards. Tim was still standing there as Dally sauntered off the Shepard's lawn and into the street, picked up his switchblade, and moseyed right along as if nothing had happened. He was truly a man of mystery, although somehow he managed to be neither of those things (mostly because Tim didn't want to give him the benefit of knowing he was an anomaly). It was strange and Tim didn't want to bust a vein thinking about it. He retired back towards the house, scratching his hair absently, and mulled over what Dallas said. He had a vague idea of what he was implying, but perhaps he would just have to clarify by seeing for himself.

Honestly, it didn't sound too much like a bad idea, which was a good thing, because the very day that Tim Shepard got his fresh new tires a week later, Dallas Winston came along with a six-pack of beers tucked under his arm.

Tim was two seconds away from starting up his car to go out prowling when he showed up; Dally appeared in the rear view mirror like an aspiration, sporting a grin that Tim wanted to pound into dust. He came up the driveway and disappeared around the side of the car. The passenger door opened, Dally tossed the bear cans in, then climbed in himself. The car rattled with all the movement.

"You didn't forget about me, did you?" Dally asked, slamming the door shut. He then added, "You ain't gonna have any teeth left if you keep grindin' them like that."

Tim relaxed his jaw. Dally kicked his feet up onto the dashboard and lit a cigarette. He glanced over his hands at Tim, the grin splitting his mouth once more. As he shook out his match, he cackled. "You didn't believe me, didja? You think I was pullin' your leg?"

"I never know what to expect from you."

Dally rolled down his window and tossed the match out.

"Let's keep it that way. Where we headin', Timothy?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "I dunno, Dallas. I was thinkin' in the looney-bin a town over."

"You talk to all your dates this way?"

Tim barked a raspy laugh. Dally cracked a tiny smile at it too.

"Is this a date?" Tim asked in sick amusement. He started the car, and it rumbled to life under them.

Dally twisted his cigarette thoughtfully between his fingers a moment, watching the ember twirl before his eyes. Tim backed the car out of the driveway and started them slow down the street towards the inner circle of town.

"Y'know, I take it back; I don't wanna admit I'm goin' on a date with someone as ugly as a Shepard."

 **a/n: i wanted to write more on this and i still do, but i can't seem to find the right idea. i might either re-write this or add to it sometime, but for now i just wanted to get it out there**

 **for the record i do requests, just mess me up. anything outsiders or Hinton related is game as far as im concerned. this particular one was requested by Panda182- sorry it took so long :")**


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